Your Weakness is Not an Affair of the Heart
by Zoi no miko
Summary: As John Murdoch and Daniel Schreber deal with demons of the past, the only place they can turn for support and survival is each other. Slash - Murdoch/Schreber, implied Mr.Hand/both, implied non-con


Standard disclaimer: I do not own or make money off of 'Dark City' or its characters, this is a work of fan fiction only. :)

Authors notes: This fic has been (heavily) edited to fit your K-M rated website. Please contact me for the Director's cut.

* * *

**"Your Weakness, We Think, is Not an Affair of the Heart."**

There wasn't anything out of the ordinary about the day, other than the weather, chilly and windy, with no sigh of the sun behind the blanket of gray clouds. It drove Daniel Schreber from his normal reading spot by the window of his apartment into his office, as if the desk light could substitute for the sun. An office that he kept spotless for the clients he didn't have. It was a little sad, really, when he thought about it. Other than morning walks he forced himself to take to get the paper and fresh produce, he spent more time with his lab rats - which had gotten rather fat - than actual people. But it was easier that way, easier to stay inside and read and learn than to think about all the complications of interacting with people who had been his unwitting test subjects. Easier than being reminded daily that he had manipulated these people, and created their entire lives...

When the knock came on his door, it took him a moment to decide whether it was real, or just a product of wishful thinking. Then came the voice. "Dr. Schreber?"

He made his way to the door of his office as quickly as his limp would allow, knowing from the voice, but not quite believing who would be there. "John!"

The dark haired man gave him a smile, but it seemed forced, a ghost of the spirit that Daniel was used to seeing in him. The man looked almost haunted, Daniel's experience told him, and he wondered what on earth what on earth could make John Murdoch, with all his godlike abilities, afraid. "Good morning, Daniel. Do you have room in your schedule to see a patient?"

Daniel hesitated, not wanting to drive him away. "I'm sorry, John. I am not a councillor -- anymore."

"I know," John replied, and something in his eyes spoke of desperation. "And I'm sorry to ask this of you. But you're the only one I can talk to about this. The only one who knows about them..."

"Of course," Daniel replied. What else could he say? "Please... come in."

He had a couch, of course. He'd bought it after he destroyed the maze, though more for decoration and to fill the space than for any anticipated function. He took a seat in the matching armchair after retrieving a leather bound notebook and pen from his desk. "Please... have a seat. Or however -- is comfortable."

John perched on the end of the couch nearest to him, looking anything but. "How have you been, Daniel? I'm sorry - do you mind if I call you Daniel? It feels a bit strange to be formal with all these memories of you running around in my head."

"Please feel free," Daniel replied, though he rather wished the familiarity was real. "I have not been busy. Just enjoying my -- freedom, you may say." He leaned forward in his chair, catching the troubled gaze of John's green eyes with his own. "How have you been, John?"

John was silent for a long moment, searching Daniel's eyes. "I have nightmares," he said finally. "Sometimes even when I'm awake. Of him - them, what they did, I can't...." he stopped, closing his eyes and drawing a shuddering breath. "I feel like a madman. How do I stop it?"

"When we dream," Daniel started slowly, "It is often a reflection of things -- that trouble us, things we have not-- come to terms with. Is there something more specific -- that is troubling you? Something that -- reoccurs?"

John avoided his eyes, silent for a long moment. "Just... them. Their voices... and how cold they were..."

"John..." Daniel gave a soft sigh. "Anything you say to me is held in -- the strictest confidence. That is my solemn vow -- as a doctor. You don't have to tell me anything -- you don't want to, but I cannot -- help you if you do not -- trust me."

John took this in silently for a moment. "They... tortured me," he said finally, still not meeting his gaze. "Well... Mr. Hand did. While the rest of them were deciding what to do with me."

Daniel felt his blood run cold, and for a moment he couldn't reply, couldn't do anything except close his eyes against the rush of his own terror. "He told me," he whispered, "what he did. He...bragged about it. I had hoped it was -- a lie. I'm so sorry, John."

John almost physically recoiled at his words, folding his arms against his chest in a gesture that most would have found standoffish, but Daniel knew was protective. "He told you... what he did to me?"

Daniel wet his lips, wanting anything but to remember it. "Yes."

John's voice was harsh and angry. "Did he tell you that I - that I liked it?"

Daniel drew as deep a breath, or as deep as his damaged lungs would allow. "John. There is a rift between physical and -- emotional response, between consciously wanting something, and what is simply -- pure biological response." John said nothing, staring angrily at the carpet, so he continued. "I know it is difficult to -- accept. But this is a completely -- normal, completely natural reaction to -- this kind of trauma."

A soft, bitter laugh. "You speak like this happens every day."

"More often than you would -- expect."

John ran his fingers through his hair, in exhaustion, or frustration. "What do I do?" he whispered, still not meeting his gaze. "Just tell me how to stop it...."

Daniel looked down at his hands, folded neatly on top of the unopened book. He was silent for a long moment, trying to fight down the feelings of misery and despair. "I wish I could give you -- an easy answer. I wish I had their technology -- and I would take that memory from you. But the process of healing is -- different for everyone."

Despair was thick in John's voice. "You can't help me."

He looked up to catch John's gaze, to look into green eyes full of pain. "I will do anything you -- ask of me, John. You may speak with me about -- anything that troubles you. And I can make suggestions. But I cannot walk the path -- for you."

John gave a soft sigh, tearing his eyes away, leaning back against the couch. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to drop this burden on you. You've been more than patient with me.... I just get so angry sometimes. There was no one else I could turn to."

"I will always -- be here," Daniel replied simply, softly. "I owe you a world -- of gratitude, for my freedom, John. And beyond that -- I hope that one day, you can -- consider me a friend." And it was true, he realized as he said it. He felt strangely comfortable around John, even in this situation, something he couldn't feel around others. Because he didn't have to hide the past from him.

John looked a little surprised by his words, and managed a small, sad smile. "I will now, if you really want that from someone like me. Maybe I need that." He shook his head slowly. "It's so hard... so hard to walk amongst everyone else, feeling this, having these nightmares, and knowing they can't ever understand. You're the only one who can."

"Better than you know," Daniel murmured softly, trying to let his own anguish show.

If John noticed his emotion, he didn't remark on it. "Thank you, Daniel."

The doctor pulled himself together enough to offer a little smile, leaning over to touch his arm lightly. "I know it seems -- difficult, but try not to dwell on it. Often, they recommend for one in your -- situation to reclaim their own -- sexuality, their power to choose and -- enjoy physical encounters. Both men and -- women. Make new memories. I'm sure you would not find any -- shortage of pretty girls willing."

A slight hint of amusement, the first he'd seen from him since he arrived. "You're telling me to sleep around, doc?"

"I'm simply suggesting that you -- responsibly explore the possibility of -- new physical relations. Have you managed to -- meet Emma again?"

John gave a slow nod. "Anna, now. She's nice enough. And she's a lot like Emma was... I guess I have you to thank for that. I just... I don't feel anything for her. It's strange...." He stopped and gave a sigh. "I remember being intimate with Emma. I remember enjoying it. But when I look at Anna... there's nothing. And I don't want to burden her with this... this craziness that I feel, these... nightmares."

"I understand."

John looked up at him. "Let me... think on it a while, what you've said. Maybe I do need to meet some people. Maybe I just need a hobby." A little bitter laugh. "Isn't it ironic how useless I feel in this city?"

"You are anything but -- useless, John."

A nod, though he didn't believe it. "Thank you." He stood, restless, and offered the doctor his hand. "I'll come by again sometime soon, if you're not busy. I'll call this time."

"I'm not busy," Daniel replied softly, shaking the offered hand and holding onto it a little longer than strictly necessary, just savouring the basic human contact. "Come by anytime you need to."

John smiled - a real smile, finally. "Thank you. I will."

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

When Daniel had first seen John at his door, he'd harboured a brief hope for some kind of normalcy, some kind of human contact in his life. But in the weeks after his visit, he didn't return. Daniel assumed, a little sadly, that he'd found the comfort and restitution he was looking for and moved on.

For himself, the man's revelation only served to bring back his own memories, memories he'd tried very hard to block in his waking moments. Ones that still plagued him in his nightmares. This was what he was woken up from at three in the morning by pounding on his office door, just when he'd resolved himself to the fact that John Murdoch was not coming back.

He fumbled for his glasses and pulled on a pair of pants with the undershirt he slept in, moving through his apartment and into the office at the front, turning on the light and trying to shake down the shudder of fear in his gut. Of course it wouldn't be Them... they never bothered to knock. "Who's there?"

"Daniel...?" John Murdoch looked back at him blurily when the door opened, half slumped against the doorframe. "Can I... talk to you?"

He stared at the man for a moment. "It's three in the -- morning, John. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Was drinking," John mumbled, and shook his head as if to clear it. " 'm sorry. It didn't work anyway. 'm such an ass..."

Daniel gave a soft sigh, opening his door. "Come in. Let me make you -- a cup of tea." He took John's arm and lead him back through the office and into his apartment, sitting him down at the kitchen table and putting the kettle on.

"You... live here?"

Daniel gave him a little smile. "Did you expect I'd be here -- at three in the morning -- if I didn't?"

"Mmm," John replied noncommittally, watching him without really seeing anything. "You mind if I smoke?"

Daniel dug up an ashtray and set it on the table. "You'll have to forgive me -- if I don't join you. I'm afraid my health -- doesn't allow it."

John regarded him silently for a moment, then set the cigarette package back down without lighting one. "Sorry to get you out of bed."

Daniel smiled again, standing by the teapot as he waited for it to boil. "It's no bother, John. You keep my life -- interesting. Would you like -- something to eat? Biscuits?"

John gave a soft chuckle. "Tea and biscuits... in the middle of the night. Sure. Might take the edge off." He sat quietly as Daniel brought over the teapot with a small sugar bowl and creamer, setting out two cups and a small plate of biscuits.

Daniel poured the tea. "Would you like to share -- what ever was bothering you enough to -- drive you to drinking?"

John nibbled a biscuit silently. "I tried to...." He started slowly. "With Anna, she... wanted it, and I just... couldn't." He looked up at him, eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What does it mean?"

Daniel shook his head. "I don't have the answer -- to that, John. How do you feel?"

"Helpless." The dark haired man shook his head. "Really goddamn frustrated. I really... I really tried to distract myself. I even took up golf." He gave a little helpless laugh, and Daniel had to admire the effort, if not the practicality. "It was mundane as hell. I tried the pubs, the dance halls, I tried hookers, I just..." He let his head rest against the palm of one hand, elbow on the table. "I can't forget it."

Daniel stirred his cup of tea, more for something to do with his hands than to mix it, the sugar long dissolved. He took a sip. "Unfortunately, I don't think it is something -- that can be forgotten quickly," he replied slowly, watching the man across the table from him.

"It's not just that," John muttered, not looking up. "The nightmares aren't always... him, I've... there's other... men! Sexually! Oh, God...!"

"John..." Daniel reached across the table before he could stop himself, placing a hand gently on his arm, and the other man looked up at him helplessly.

"Are you going to tell me that this is a natural response too?"

Daniel shrugged, just as helpless. "Some of the books in my office -- speak on it in depth. Not as a result of trauma, but as something -- completely natural. Attraction to one's own gender. But I can tell you that -- in this entire city, there is no one who was given -- these kind of memories, this kind of -- inclination. It was never -- in their plans." He gave a soft sigh, looking up again as he felt a touch on his forearm, surprisingly feather light. Tracing over one of the many thin white scars that adorned his skin.

"How did you get these?" John asked softly, previous topic apparently forgotten, or purposefully set aside.

Daniel shivered despite himself, the unexpected tenderness of something he'd been deprived of for so long effecting him more than he'd expected. "... in general, Them. In specific... him."

The look John gave him was a strange mix of rage and sorrow. "Why?"

"Do you think that I -- worked for them willingly?" Daniel closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hold back the flood of emotion. "This was just... one of the ways -- he controlled me. One of the many ways...."

Green eyes searched his with a strange intensity, seeing pain that the doctor couldn't hide. More than he'd hoped John could see. Finally, the other man spoke, voice tentative, words broken. "Daniel... what he did to me... he... did to you as well...?"

Daniel broke from his gaze, from his touch, with a shudder, his words bringing back the nightmare that had haunted him only moments previous. "Yes, I'm sorry. Yes, yes. I couldn't... I wasn't strong enough -- to tell you...." He burried his face in his hands, wishing that he could somehow hide from it all.

John's voice was soft, hardly above a whisper. "... when?"

"When not? God John, I couldn't -- keep track. It was a punishment, at first. Humiliation. In front - in front of all of Them. Then whenever -- he was displeased with me. Or whenever... he wanted. Even when he -- was bragging about what he did -- to you, he was... and he... and I...." He shuddered at the recollection and forced himself to stop hiding behind his hands, drawing a few breaths, pressing lips tightly together against remembered pain, trying to shut away the emotion.

John shook his head slowly. "I don't understand. He didn't - they don't take pleasure in it...."

Daniel shook his head, pulling himself together enough to speak. "Not physically. I'm sure that -- mentally -- it was very satisfying to Them. The dominance, the -- control." His voice was bitter. "I... I hated him. So much. But at the same time..." He stopped, trying to move past the block of fear, needing to let out the agony of this confession. "Have you heard of Stockholm's syndrome?"

John shook his head mutely, so he continued. "It is a... psychological condition. Capture bonding. Where a victim -- most often of kidnap or rape -- is slowly manipulated to -- care for their captor." He closed his eyes, fingers clutching the teacup so tightly he was sure that the fragile ceramic would break. He forced himself to look at John, at eyes that reflected his own pain, his voice more harsh than he could have imagined. "So yes, I - I wanted it, in the end. Wanted him. Begged for it. It was -- all I had."

John absorbed this in silence for a long moment, long enough that Daniel broke his gaze with a little shudder of self loathing.

"How do you cope?" John asked softly, finally, and Daniel couldn't keep himself from laughing bitterly.

"No better than you. I coop up in this -- apartment, I can't bring myself to -- to interact with anyone. So you see -- when I say that I can't help you -- it's the truth, John. I can't even help -- myself."

The dark haired man looked utterly miserable. "What about your suggestion to me, to reclaim my passion, my life?"

The doctor shook his head. "I am not the man -- you are, John. My heart is weak. And I have never, ever desired -- a woman. Perhaps because of him. Or perhaps I am simply the only one -- in this city for whom that is still -- natural." He turned his gaze from John to look out the window, out into the darkness of the city. "The things we say -- in the middle of the -- night. At least you have liquor -- as an excuse. I must -- disgust you."

"You don't." John was silent for a moment, then replied "I'm not drunk now. Tuning. I can get rid of it. Daniel... this doesn't change what I think of you. I just... I'm sorry I haven't listened to you like you have to me."

Daniel glanced over at him, the dark haired man sitting taller, the slight glaze to his eyes gone. "One short conversation in my office, weeks ago?"

"It kept me from loosing myself entirely. Because I knew you'd be here. Because it let me believe that everything I remember about you - even if it's fake, even if they're just memories you made for me in one night - it let me believe that you cared about me." He hesitated, then reached for his hand across the table, gently pulling Daniel's fingers from the teacup and setting it aside. Taking the doctor's hand in his. "Maybe we're meant to survive together. Like before, like how we defeated them. We can't survive apart. Maybe we can... help each other."

"I don't understand how," Daniel replied softly, but John simply smiled, looking strangely nervous. Then he stood, leaning over the table and cupping Daniel's face with one hand, drawing it up press his lips to his.

Part of Daniel reacted first, not with fear, but need. For affection, for human contact, for the first kiss he'd received since at least before the Strangers - the only kiss in what was left of his ruined memory. The first real gesture of affection. John was warm and soft and human and nothing like them, his fingers gentle on Daniel's skin. Kisses yearning and slightly clumsy, tasting of tea and just a hint of whiskey, and Daniel gave a soft groan despite himself, not caring about the complaints from his poor battered spine as he arched up into the kiss.

Then the other part of him took control, the part that started thinking about what was happening and what it would mean and what the consequences could be. The part that was fearful and broke away with a shuddering gasp. "Don't - !"

John jerked back as if stung, then slowly sat back down. "... I'm sorry."

Daniel tried to bring himself to look at him, tried to calm his breathing, frantic gasps of air, to stop trembling, though he wasn't even sure when he started. "I can't. I - I'm your doctor...."

John was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was hard. "Really? I thought you were my friend."

He turned back to him with a sudden pang of guilt. "John... that's not what I --"

"It's fine." Green eyes refused to meet his gaze. "Just thought that maybe I could, you know...." a soft laugh, and he shook his head. "Never mind. Like you said. How can I help you if I can't help myself?"

"I didn't -- John...."

John caught his eyes now, generous lips pressed into a tight line. "You want to know the truth? This is why I was drinking. So I wouldn't come back, so I wouldn't do this. Fat load of good it did." He stood, chair grating on the tile as it pushed back. "And maybe it's because of him, because of all this - hell he put me through, but the only time I can escape it is when I think about you. I just... I wish that meant something to you."

Daniel closed his eyes against his words. "I can't... I can't feel anything, John. I can't get past it. I'm so sorry. You have to understand, this was -- this was years for me, this is all I can remember. I don't have the luxury of -- a childhood, a past. Not even a -- fake one. All I have -- is Them."

"Then why not make new memories? Isn't that what you told me?" When Daniel didn't reply, he sighed. "Well. If you change your mind... you know where to find me."

Daniel looked up at him helplessly. "What will you do?"

John shrugged. "Try to survive. What else is there to do? I'm sorry I bothered you, Doctor. I'll show myself out."

He started out of the apartment and into the office, for the door, and though Daniel called after him, there was no reply except the sound of the office door shutting.

* * *

For three days, Daniel stayed in his apartment. Trying to pretend like nothing had happened, trying to read and study, but he couldn't concentrate, torn between two extremes. The new one, was John himself remembering the way he d kissed him, craving more of that contact, more of him. The agony of having driven him away.

The other, of course, was Them. He still had the same nightmares, the same memories replayed over and over - the darkness, Mr. Hand's taunting voice. Hurting him, ridiculing him, making him beg. That horrible craving for pleasure and release despite the pain it would bring.

Memories of the night after John had woken up, when Mr. Hand had found him, finally, trying to hide from Them in the bath house. How just the sight of the Stranger, the sound of his voice, terrified him. And Hand playing with him, like a cat plays with a mouse, and finally stalking off, leaving Daniel to swim for the pool ladder that he'd moved to to the other side. To climb out, dripping and exhausted, drying off, starting to dress slowly.

Then when he least expected it, Hand's voice, startling him, when he was sure the Stranger had left. Stripping him, shoving his face up against the grill overlooking the pool, then alternatively slicing up his skin and abusing him, forcing him to beg for the violation he didn't want. Hand's fingers at his throat, cutting off the supply of oxygen to his poor damaged lungs as he raped him, pushing his body to orgasm as he wavered on the edge of consciousness, then dropping him to the floor of the bath house, leaving him crumpled and gasping for breath. Hating himself even as the shudders of pleasure still tingled through his body.

At least it had woken him up, woken his hatred again, enough to return underground and make that syringe, the one that had ultimately saved both John's life and his own. But that was only a small comfort now.

* * *

The fourth day of his misery, Daniel forced himself to go out, to walk along the streets of the city. Trying to work up the nerve to talk to someone, anyone, for any reason. But it was easier to hide his eyes under the brim of his hat, to keep from making eye contact, to shelter himself in his cocoon of solitude, no matter how firmly his mind told him to do otherwise.

Finally, near sundown, he slipped into a dirty little bar, finding a seat against the wall and ordering a double shot of bourbon on the rocks, though he really would have rather had a cup of tea. He sat quietly, sipping the drink slowly, watching people and thinking, wondering, if he could really have contact with any of them them at all. He finished the bourbon and ordered another, then a third.

When the dark haired girl slipped into the seat beside him with a drink in her hand, it took him a moment to process it. Then the knowledge came to him with too much clarity, like it did anytime he looked at any one person for any more than a few moments. This life she was a street walker - escort, he corrected himself, she was expensive - though his memory for facts and faces didn't extend to names. Before that she'd been a secretary for a rich businessman, then a police clerk, then a mother of two... he tried to ignore the list of identities that scrolled through his mind, tried to set it aside and give her a smile, though he couldn't help but pity the fact that out of all the people she'd been in the past, she was stuck now as this one.

"You here alone, stranger?" She asked, voice friendly and teasing, and Daniel quickly pushed away his immediate negative reaction to the term.

"Just killing time," he said softly, watching her. Wondering about his advice to John, and the strength of his own will. "This place seems a bit -- rough, for a sweet girl -- like yourself."

She smiled coyly, carmine painted lips turning up to push her cheeks into dimples. "I like things a bit rough, this place is interesting to me. I'm Bridey, by the way."

"Daniel," he replied, after a moment of hesitation. "What are you -- drinking?"

"Gin and tonic with lime," she replied with a smile, and he hailed the waitress, draining the remains of his bourbon and ordering another double, as well as a drink for her.

She scooted her chair closer, watching him in the low light of the bar. "You're cute, Daniel. But you look like you've seen some rough times yourself..."

He gave a slow nod, toying with his empty glass, grateful when the waitress returned promptly with the drinks. He took a large swallow, giving a little cough as the liquid burned down his throat. "Some say that life -- is suffering."

She nodded amiably, sipping the drink, lips pursed prettily around the provided straw. Heart shaped lips in a heart shaped face. "It doesn't all have to be, though."

Daniel shot back the remains of the bourbon regardless, thinking that he wasn't quite as drunk as he wished he was, but kept up his resolve, kept playing the game. He turned and caught her gaze. "Will you -- show me?"

She smiled, and delicate fingers with varnished nails touched the side of his face - the good side, without scarring. Holding him in place as she leaned in to kiss him. She smelled of cosmetics and rosewater, and her lips were soft and warm, but too delicate, too gentle. She wasn't John.

A voice behind him in the bar caught his attention, unexpectedly. "...Daniel?"

That was John.

He heard footsteps, and a hand fell on his shoulder. He pulled away from the girl, looking up a little blearily. "John."

The girl glanced between the two of them, sizing up the situation. "Hello again, John. I didn't know you two were friends."

"We've met," John said simply, shortly, eying the empty glasses on the table. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, throwing some down on the table and handing the rest to her. "Go get some supper, Bridey. I need to talk to him."

The girl gave a slow nod, knowing when to call the conquest quits, and disappeared into the back of the bar

"John..."

The dark haired man threw off his protest before turning for the door. "Outside. Now."

He followed, struggling to keep up with the other man's quick stride. His feet felt a bit like lead, and it made it harder to control the gait of his damaged leg. John headed around the corner of the building into the darkened alley without looking to see if he followed, but when he made the turn, he found him waiting for him, his hands catching the lapels of his coat, shoving him none too gently back against the wall. John's voice was rough and angry. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Daniel struggled to catch his breath, easily winded. "How did you -- find me?"

A short, bitter laugh. "Chance, if you'll believe it." Green eyes, just visible in the light from the street, narrowed. "You've been drinking?"

Daniel wet his lips. "Just trying to -- take my own advice."

The hands holding his lapels curled into fists, voice thick with hurt, with anger. "Why?"

"Survival. The same, it seems -- as you are doing." He felt an unexpected flare of anger at his words, challenging him. "She was one of your -- whores?"

"God!" John pulled away with a curse, arm yanking back as if to hit him, and Daniel instinctively winced back in fear, eyes closed in anticipation the blow. Instead the fist landed on the brick wall beside his shoulder, thrice in rapid succession before John pushed away with a harsh, helpless laugh, shaking out his hand. "Dammit, that hurt..."

"John, don't..." Daniel took a step toward him and stumbled, only to have the other man rush him again, catching him and pressing him up against the side of the building. But this time was with passion, not anger, catching Daniel's mouth, feverish and needy. Kisses hot and sweet and trembling, and he felt a surge of desire, arms slipping around him without thinking to pull him closer. This was what he'd craved, not her. John's form, arms that were solid and strong, not soft. Lips that were demanding, that gasped for breath against his between kisses, tasting him hungrily, stealing the soft moans that arose from throat, unbidden. The heat of his body pressed agonizingly close.

They heard the sound of a door opening, of voices, and John jerked back quickly, panting a little, watching him. His eyes darted down the alley to where the noise had come from, waiting until the light from the open door was gone, the voices silent, before stepping forward again. "Don't tell me you didn't feel that."

Daniel closed his eyes for a moment, trying to catch his breath, trying to stop his head from spinning. "I won't -- deny it."

John's hand, light and tentative on the shoulder he'd held so roughly moments before. "... Come back with me to Shell Beach."

He swallowed hard against the fear and uncertainty, trying to push it away. "I - I can't..."

"Daniel..." The dark haired man moved closer, shoulder leaning up against the wall at his back, not trying to hide his anguish. His words came as a harsh whisper. "Please... don't make me beg. I ... I need you."

He drew a shuddering breath, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of bourbon that was steadily becoming thicker. "Give me time, John. Please. I - I can't... I'm sorry. I need to know, know for myself, that I can separate what I -- what I feel for you, from -- from him. Please."

John was silent for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "That's fair."

He felt suddenly very tired and clumsy, and shook his head, trying to clear it. "Can you tell me -- you know that for -- yourself?"

John watched him seriously. "Yes, Daniel. I can."

"And this isn't..." he struggled to find words through the haze. "The Daniel in your memories... isn't me, I'm not -- I'm not handsome, John...."

"Shh...." Gentle fingers brushed his cheek, stroking gently over the white scars. "None of that matters. You're still you."

He managed a soft smile. "Thank you. You... you have been so -- kind to me, John. But I've been... alone for a very long time," he said softly. "I don't want this... to just be about that...." He drew a hand across his eyes, blinking hard. "I should... get home..." he took a step and felt his bad leg give out, stumbling into strong arms that held him upright.

"God... you've had way too much to drink, doc." John's voice was warm, slightly amused.

"Had to," he murmured fuzzily, "to try and -- sleep with a woman...."

A soft chuckle. "Not sure if you would have accomplished anything in this state anyway. Come on... I'll get you home. Just close your eyes and hold on." Strong arms wrapped around his waist tightly, and he felt a cool breeze against his skin, which felt lovely after the heat of the bar. "You really don't like women at all?" John's voice was soft and warm in his ear, a point to focus on in a world that had suddenly become very fuzzy.

"Too soft... 'n small," he mumbled, and suddenly they landed with a bump, though he hadn't realized they were flying. "Where...?"

"In your office, don't worry." John pulled away slightly, one arm still securely around his waist, helping him move into his apartment. "Where do you sleep?"

"There," Daniel managed to point out the door to his room, and before he knew it, he'd been bundled into bed, stripped down to his pants and undershirt, and John was pressing a large glass of cool water into his hand.

"Drink this, all right?"

He nodded slowly, doing so, eyes falling closed as John tucked the blankets around him, carefully taking his glasses off for him. He felt a soft kiss pressed to his forehead, and then sleep took him.

* * *

He woke in the morning to the sun in his face and a pounding headache, and gave a low groan, rolling over to escape it. As he did so, two things came to his attention. First, that he'd slept the whole night without nightmares, and second, that John Murdoch was in his bed. "...John?"

On was really a more appropriate way to describe it than in, asleep on top of his soft down quilt, still fully dressed from what he could tell, covered with a throw that he normally kept folded at the end of the bed for cold nights. The dark haired man stirred sleepily, yawning and blinking at him a few times as he woke. "Hey... sorry. I must've passed out...." He gave the doctor a little smile. "How are you feeling, doc?"

Daniel closed his eyes for a moment. "Like a very -- stupid man. With a headache."

John gave a soft chuckle, Tuning and handing him what looked like a glass of orange juice. "No more stupid than me showing up at your office at three in the morning. Drink this."

He took it gratefully, sitting up a little with a soft groan, setting aside the glass when he finished. "Thank you, John. For getting me -- home."

The other man smiled warmly, and with such fondness that it almost made Daniel forget his headache for a moment. John stood, shaking out the throw and re-folding it. "Anytime. Just try not to go on any more benders with strange women."

Daniel winced, and gave a slow nod. "You have my -- word." He paused for a moment. "Thank you for staying."

John gave a little self conscious chuckle, shaking his head. "You know it's funny... even fully dressed in a strange bed... that was the best sleep I've had in weeks." He paused for a moment. "Thank you."

Daniel watched him silently as he spoke, then nodded very slowly. "Myself -- also. Strange...."

"In your case, I'm sure it was the booze." John gave him a little teasing smile as if to lighten the mood and set the throw on the end of the bed. "I should head out."

"You're leaving?"

"Before I overstay my welcome." The dark haired man wet his lips, nervously. "Daniel... how much do you remember of last night and what you said to me?"

Daniel thought back carefully. "I remember you asking me to -- come home to Shell Beach -- with you."

John nodded slowly. "And you said you would when you were ready. When you were... sure."

Daniel watched him for a long moment, searched the vulnerability in those green eyes, coming to the realization that he'd subconsciously known for a long time. "John. I am sure."

Well shaped lips parted slightly, drawing a soft breath. Then his voice came, forced lightheartedness. "Don't you go being all sappy on me just because I took care of you for one drunken night." He rounded the bed, toward the door. "You do your thinking. I'll be there when you're ready."

"Don't go...." He pushed back the covers, getting out of bed and reaching John at the doorway, who caught the doctor in his arms, drawing him close for a trembling kiss.

It was different in daylight, somehow. More real, full of nerves and tentative, gentle touches, John's fingers ghosting his face, slipping into his hair. Lips parting hesitantly to let the tip of his tongue flick against Daniel's, who accepted the invitation with a soft whimper, letting him taste him, explore the kiss. He pressed closer, and Daniel's breath came a little faster, fingers tangling in the back of his shirt. "John...."

Their lips parted, and John let his forehead rest against his, their faces close enough to feel each other's breath. "Do your thinking," he said, softly. "I need to know that you're sure. About everything. Please."

Daniel hesitated for a long moment, then drew back silently, nodding slowly. "All right."

John smiled warmly, reaching out to draw the pad of his thumb across Daniel's lips, wetting his own. "I'll look forward to it."

Daniel gave a little shiver, still not used to the familiarity of his touch, and kissed his thumb gently, which made John's smile widen. "Take care, John."

The dark haired man leaned in for a feather light kiss before turning, heading out. "You too, Daniel."

* * *

The day was quiet, and warm, and Daniel found himself strangely calmer than he'd been in a long time. He bathed and dressed, making a pot of tea and some toast for breakfast, which made him feel rather more human. Finally, he went into his office, removing books from one of his shelves to reveal a half-hidden shelf behind with thin, leather bound volumes journalling everything he could remember, all his years in the darkness, with Them. He moved them to his desk in two neat piles, then sat back and began to read.

He'd hardly revisited them after the initial recording, except to occasionally look up certain details that grew hazy with time. Now it was a little strange to re-read his confused thoughts and feelings from that time, and the emotion that showed through regardless of how analytically he'd tried to discuss everything he went through. As time went on, as he was pulled deeper and deeper into the experiments, he could read of his own despair and pain. But strangely, he finally felt that he could detach himself from the majority of it. Time to put it all in the past and move on.

That night his dreams were strangely disjointed, memories intermingling with strange imagery from his subconscious. But John was at his side, warm and reassuring, and somehow the memories didn't seem frightening anymore at all.

It was almost noon when he woke. He dressed, tidied the apartment, and gave enough food for the rats to last a few days. Then he neatly folded a change of clothes and a few personal items into a small suitcase, and caught the express train to Shell Beach.

He'd created the memory of this place more times that he could count, but now, finally seeing it with his own eyes, he could understand why John loved it so much. It was bright and clean and so entirely opposite from the city, and he found himself smiling without thinking about it. He slipped out of his overcoat, tucking it over one arm and walking along the main road in the town, finding the collection of houses and shops quaint and refreshing.

He hadn't really thought about how he would find out where John lived, but surveying the layout of the town, made an educated guess and turned onto the road that wound towards the lighthouse. Sure enough, he only had to pass a few houses to find the mailbox marked "Murdoch", in front of a house overlooking the beach. Climbing the steps to the porch, he pulled the bell and waited patiently.

John opened the door, barefoot and casual in a light, short sleeved shirt and beige pants. "Daniel!"

"Hello, John. You are -- surprised?"

"No - well, a little... come in." He opened the door wider, watching him with a little wondering smile on his face. "I didn't expect you quite so soon."

"I've done what I -- needed to do," Daniel replied simply.

"Good... Oh - let me take your things...."

Daniel surrendered his coat and hat, which were hung on a stand, and the suitcase, which, after a few moments of consideration, John set at the foot of the stairs. The dark haired man turned back to him, still with the same wondering smile. "... how are you?"

"Better," Daniel said softly, moving closer and lifting a hand to cup his face gently. "Much better." Then, only a little nervous, he leaned in to brush his lips gently against his.

John gave a soft sigh against his mouth, arms slipping around him, pulling him in for a longer kiss, warm and yearning. "I'm so glad," he murmured, slipping his fingers up to tangle in Daniel's hair, and Daniel couldn't think of anything nicer than that moment, standing in the warmth and sunlight of John's front room, in his arms, kisses so sweet and tender. Couldn't feel anything other than a warm build of adoration and desire, more intense than he could have imagined, and he gave a soft, shuddering moan against his mouth, almost overwhelmed by it.

"Are you ok?" John's fingers stroked through his hair, pulling back just enough to look at him, green eyes concerned.

Daniel nodded silently, not quite trusting his voice at first. "Yes. Oh yes. It just... it's so good, John."

The other man smiled, with just a hint of cheekiness and promise. "This? We're only just getting started, doc." He leaned in to nuzzle his hair, arms tightening around him, voice softer. "Been thinking of you all day...."

Daniel gave a little shiver at the sensation, letting himself indulge in the scent of him, the feel of his dark curls against his skin. "Myself -- as well..."

"Good..." John's voice was almost a purr, and he pulled back with a smile. "Should I take your things upstairs? I have a guest room... but I'm afraid isn't made up. So you're welcome to take my bed...." He smirked, and Daniel laughed.

"You're very sure of yourself -- aren't you, John?" He left his shoes at the door, following him upstairs.

He gave a little shrug, still smiling, eyes full of amusement. "Oh, I'll take the couch, of course. What kind of a host do you think I am?"

"Oh - but I wouldn't dream of -- forcing you from your bed in -- your own home," he replied returning his playfulness.

"Well, I suppose if you insist..." John opened the door to the master bedroom, which was bright and airy, and set Daniel's suitcase down on a chair. "As long as you don't snore."

Daniel gave a wry smile. "I'm afraid I don't -- breathe well enough for that."

John regarded him seriously. "I think I can fix that, if you like..." he wet his lips. "What did They do, if you don't mind me asking?"

Daniel pushed away memories of a leather gloved hand at his throat and shook his head. "I don't remember, I'm afraid. I assume something to make it -- more difficult for me to escape..."

He saw a flash of anger on John's face, and determination. "Here... lean back and try to stay still for me..." he shut the bedroom door, pressing Daniel back against it, starting to unbutton his shirt and vest. Daniel gave a little laugh in protest, and John smiled, leaning up to kiss him gently. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to you yet. Just easier if I can touch your skin. Humans are more complicated than buildings." He tugged the shirt and vest both from his shoulders, off his arms, but Daniel caught his hands as they reached for the bottom of his cotton undershirt.

"John..." he tried to fight down a rush of nerves, of fear. "You won't like what you see...."

"It doesn't matter to me. It doesn't change who you are."

"Even if they're from him?" Daniel replied softly, feeling a throb of remembered agony churn at his stomach.

John hesitated for only a second, then his eyes narrowed slightly, his determination back in full force. "Then I'll erase every touch of him from you. Everything. Anything you want me to do. Do you trust me?"

Daniel managed a little nod, releasing John's hands slowly and letting him strip the thin cotton from his form. He turned his eyes away, heart pounding in his chest, suddenly afraid to see John's reaction. He heard a soft hiss, felt his fingers touch the strange swirling pattern of shiny scarring, red and angry, on his chest, amidst thin white lines of knife scars. "Is this...."

Daniel closed his eyes with a shudder. "A burn. Hot metal."

"They BRANDED you?" he blurted, horrified.

He looked back to John, a little fearfully, and saw a flurry of emotions pass over him - horror, rage, despair, then finally that same determination, and his arms slipped around Daniel's shoulders, hugging him fiercely. "God, Daniel, Daniel..." his name as a helpless moan, John's lips pressed to his hair. "God... I should have torn him limb from limb when I had the chance..."

He let himself cling to John with a shudder, overwhelmed by the outpouring of emotion. Finding his voice finally. "Take it from me."

John pulled back, eyes dark. "It will hurt." He warned, voice low. "Surface work really hurts, because the nerves are so concentrated...."

Daniel gave him a small, mirthless smile. "I'll wager it won't hurt -- as much as it did then. Do it."

John gave a decisive noise and pressed his palm to Daniel's skin, over the scar. "Brace yourself."

It didn't hurt as much, but it was close, and it lasted longer. Pain sharp and hot shot out from John's hand through him, like his skin was being peeled from him. He gave a gasping cry, hands finding and grabbing John's shoulders desperately, clutching hard at his flesh, fingers digging into his skin. He clenched his jaw hard against the agony, trying to endure, trying not to move. He could feel John shudder under his hands, breathless, but the pain was too intense to react to it. His twisted muscles spasmed violently, triggered by the pain, by the adrenaline that rushed through his veins, and were it not for John holding him in place, he would have doubled over in agony, gasping for breath, the all too familiar blackness swimming at the edges of his vision.

Then it stopped, as quickly as it had started, leaving a soft warmth in its place, and John was supporting him, pulling him down onto the bed with him. "Shhh... I'm so sorry, love...."

...love? He tried to focus on John's voice, trying to calming his breathing, the trembling of his limbs. "'s all right," he managed to gasp, and slowly the gentle touch of John's hands smoothing over his skin calmed him.

"I've never had anyone react that violently before," John murmured softly. "I'm so sorry..."

"You've... done this before...?"

John cleared his throat. "Well... you told me to get a hobby..." his fingers stroked slowly over Daniel's skin, soft and soothing. "If you're up to it... I'd like to try your lungs... you almost blacked out just then, didn't you?"

Daniel gave a little nod. "It's all right... I'm used to it..."

John smiled sadly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "You shouldn't have to be... and I'm afraid you'll pass out on me later when I try to do nice things to you." A little teasing smile, to try and lift the mood, which did make Daniel feel a little better.

He gave John a brave smile. "Go ahead."

John urged him onto his back, kneeling beside him, hands stroking over skin that was blessedly smooth now to rest lightly over his chest. "Breathe as deep as you can for me? ... Again? Good." He wet his lips, a little nervously. "It might take a little longer than last time... just try to keep breathing, all right? As slow and deep as you can. It should get easier as I work. Try and focus on counting your breaths." He hesitated, then shifted to kneel straddling his hips, thighs tight against his sides, hands still on his chest, pressing him firmly to the bed. "Easier if you can't move as much... want to grab my shoulders?"

Daniel nodded mutely, trying not to feel as anxious about this as he was and simultaneously trying to ignore the soft pulse of pleasure that came from John's weight and warmth on top of him. He curled his fingers around John's shoulders, focusing on keeping his breathing careful, slow and calm. "I'm ready when -- you are."

John didn't reply, but as he exhaled he felt an intense pressure take hold of his chest, throbs of pain that quickly grew more intense. He fought to control his breathing, despite the sensation that someone was pressing down painfully hard on his ribcage. Counting each breath as John had recommended. (Seven, eight, nine....)

It was starting to burn, to grow sharper, harder to bear. His fingers clenched at John's shoulders, digging into his skin, and he could feel the other man's muscles tense, every part of his body perfectly controlled, concentrating, eyes closed as he worked. He'd learned well, and a small part of Daniel, detached from the hot, pulsing pain, felt a strange sense of pride. Somehow he was acutely aware of the man on top of him, every place they touched, the heat of John's hands on his skin, a firm, strong heartbeat in his ears, a rush of sound, on top of his own erratic one. It grew harder to breathe against the pressure, but he struggled on, diaphragm aching, straining to pull breath. (Eighteen, nineteen....)

His vision was starting to swim again, so he closed his eyes, and as he did so the throbbing turned sharp, hard, like fingers thrusting deep into his skin, between his ribs and into his lungs. A harsh, gasping cry escaped his lips, and his body jerked tense, bucking up against John's hips, against the hands that held him firmly in place, spine screaming agony at the abuse the tension dealt to his body. (Thirty one, thirty two....)

His muscles started to seize again from the stress of being held tense, pulling painfully against old injuries and scar tissue, wracking his body with helpless shocks of agony. John's arms were trembling, his own breath coming in sharp gasps with Daniel's, and the beat of his heart was faster, dancing with Daniel's in his ears. Still, John managed to hold his body in place, hold Daniel down. "Just a... little more...."

He couldn't focus enough to reply, couldn't focus on anything but counting, trying to breathe through it, to ignore the trembling and painful spasms of his muscles, the agonizing heat in his chest, the pressure. Then, it suddenly stopped, and he could breathe, gulping huge, desperate gasps of air, feeling his lungs and diaphragm stretch deliciously as they inflated fully for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. And slowly, the rush in his ears faded along with the strange connection he'd felt to the man on top of him. His body relaxed, the complaints of his spine and muscles receding, though it left his whole body weak and trembling, in a cold sweat that chilled him. The blackness started to recede from his mind, chest heaving under John's hands, and he blinked open his eyes to look at him again.

John managed a weak smile, trembling as much as he was, breath coming in soft pants. His skin was pale, and his hands, one of which lifted to cup Daniel's cheek gently, were cold and shaking. "You all right, love...?"

That word again, and he smiled despite the exhaustion, the lingering twinges of pain. "Oh yes, John. Thank you, so much. You look like hell though...."

John swallowed hard, eyes closing for a minute. "Lungs... much harder than skin 'n bone," he managed. "Haven't... tried that before... so detailed and... complicated...." With that his body gave out, collapsing beside him, one leg still half over Daniel's body.

"John?!"

" 'm ok," the dark haired man murmured, exhaustion obvious in his voice. "Just need rest... you too...."

Daniel struggled to push himself up, grabbing the comforter that was neatly folded at the end of the bed and managing to yank it over them as he collapsed again, curling into John, limbs tangled together, letting the oblivion of sleep take him.

* * *

He awoke sometime in the night, his body reminding him of the call of nature. The room was dark, though still warm, moonlight streaming through the sheers on the windows. John still slept beside him, breathing deep and peaceful, and it took him a moment to recall everything had happened. Then he let himself pull a deep breath, letting it out in a euphoric sigh. Yes... that was worth the pain.

He extracted himself carefully from John's embrace, but the other man did little more than murmur in his sleep, shifting a little as Daniel go out of bed. It took him a few wrong guesses to find which door lead to the bathroom, one of which revealed, to his amusement, a completely made up guest room.

He stared at himself in the mirror after washing his hands, wondering a little. The scars on his chest were almost completely gone, the skin smooth and healthy again, through with far less body hair than he remembered. More importantly, the burn was gone, the horrible, blatant reminder of Them, of him, that had left him hating to see his own body. He smoothed a hand over his skin, wondering a little. It felt normal. Real. Like nothing had ever happened. He found himself smiling, and turned off the light, heading back to John's room. He took off his belt for comfort but left his trousers on to maintain some semblance of modesty, setting his glasses on the bedside table and slipping carefully back under the quilt next to John, who curled up to him sleepily.

Daniel pressed his lips to dark curls, murmuring softly. "... I love you...."

He heard a soft, sleepy murmur of agreement, and fell back asleep, safe and warm in John's arms.

~~~Fin~~~

* * *


End file.
